


Black Cats and Misfortune

by kcemi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 2 months of work have finally paid off :'), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Kuroo is a cat god who's desperate for attention and is there to keep Kenma company basically, M/M, god AU, i'm incredibly proud of this, small doses of angst, so i did it myself B), there's a lot of noragami undertones and inspiration btw, there's suggestive bokuaka if you squint, this is the au i wanted to happen but never did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcemi/pseuds/kcemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cats are supposed to bring good luck, but they always bring Kenma misfortune, and now he's being followed around by a cat god who wants to keep him company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Cats and Misfortune

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually really proud and I've fallen in love with this AU. I also made some[art](http://kcemi.tumblr.com/tagged/black-cats-and-misfortune), because I get carried away easily!! I hope you enjoy this as much as I do!!

Despite the roaring obsession with cats and felines alike in Japan, they only bring Kenma misfortune. They hate him, and he isn’t sure if he likes them any more than they like him. He doesn’t hate them, but he definitely doesn’t love them. In fact, he doesn’t really like any animal, but that might be because they constantly scratch, bite, and disagree with him.

Who the hell had assumed he likes cats, anyway? Is it because everyone else seems to like cats - the black ones, especially - or because he attends a high school with “cat” in the name? “It’s not the same kanji,” he could easily justify, but arguing with people about why he doesn’t like animals would probably require too much effort - effort that could be going towards completing that new game sitting on his table or the half-completed one in his backpack.

He’d been compared to a cat, himself. Kenma doesn’t really mind, because the reasoning was only fair, but that _most definitely_ doesn’t mean he likes them. They’re not evil creatures, he can admit, but they didn’t get along well with him. Every animal doesn’t along well with him, but it’s not like he wants one in the first place...

Despite the roar of the rain keeping him restrained under the shade of a shrine and the occasional stray drop hitting his game console, he doesn’t draw his eyes from it’s screen. It’s his own fault that he had forgotten his umbrella, and his mother is no longer there to remind him to take it away and tell him to have a nice day.

He’s been lonely, but solitude is also his forte.

Quietly tapping away at the buttons and entering whatever combo it was that he’s chosen to utilize, he prays to whatever gods are listening for the rain to stop. He presses pause for a short moment, turning around to the look at the shrine he’s standing in front of, and wonders if the god it was dedicated to would grant his wish. The rain doesn’t stop, but a body under an umbrella appears a bit off in the distance.

They pass without offering any assistance, but Kenma doesn’t feel any remorse. He hugs his jacket closer to his body and resumes fighting the insurmountable boss that he’d been spending more than a few good hours working on. Several “game over” screens and presses of the “try again” button hadn’t yet caused him to shy away - not that it would cause him to give up in the first place.

Several attempts at the boss passes and the downpour lightens to a weak drizzle. Kenma presses pause and forces the console into sleep mode, burying the game in his jacket pocket. He then extends his hand out, feeling the light drops on his hand and steps forward, but immediately trips over a black mass at his feet. He immediately responds, eyeing the small clump of fur settled uncomfortably at his feet, and he groans with more than a little irritation.

“Shoo,” he hisses, pushing at the animal with his foot.

It meows a complaint and protests Kenma’s demand, and puts more weight down as the pudding haired boy tries to back away. The cat paws and prods at his feet and continues to try to rest on Kenma’s shoes.

“Leave me alone,” Kenma says to it, his voice faint. “Stop bothering me.”

Not wanting to wait under the road shrine’s vicinity with the cat any longer, he forces his feet to move. The feline groans in displeasure, and begins to follow Kenma into the open - an actual smirk on its face.

_Can cats smirk?_

“Cut it out,” Kenma orders blandly, turning back towards the animal. “I don’t want you following me.”

Despite the cat disobeying his orders, Kenma walks. Finding multiple ways to keep his attention off of it, because maybe - just _maybe_ \- it’ll give up and return to wherever it came from, Kenma removes his cellphone from his pocket and taps away at the low-resolution game on the screen.

He’s walked this path before, and he knows by memory where to and where not to step and where every little obstacle is. The rock to the left of the pathway, the dip in the concrete from heavy road usage, and even which alleys to walk farther away from. He’s taken this path through the slightly more isolated part of the city almost daily, and he knows it well.

Tokyo’s main concept is “new and improved.” Kenma’s known this since he was a small child. His mother’s, on the other hand, was familiar and comfortable. Less and less people wanted to live in and visit the worn down part of Tokyo, and soon, the potholes never got filled and they never got deeper, and everything stayed the same. His neighbors often wouldn’t move away, and the empty houses rarely got filled. It was quiet, and early in the morning, even the subway was empty until it reached a deeper part of the city.

Opening and closing the front gate of his home as he pays his surroundings little mind, Kenma treks up the path. As much as he dislikes the bothersome lifestyle of the city, he knows nothing else - the country probably isn’t for him either.

The gate at the entrance to his property rattled once more as he was several feet away from the steps to the door, and Kenma turns back. The black cat stares up at him as it trots by and up to the front door, pawing at it as though it had here before.

“Go home,” Kenma says, feeling as though speaking to the cat is likely to be fairly useless. Shoving the keys into the door after approaching it, he gives in.

He enters, and so does the cat.

Kenma turns his shoes back to the door, and he glances downwards at the cat. He has absolutely no idea how to take care of an animal, especially when he can barely take care of himself (or even a cactus, probably). The cat shakes its fur and pads across the floor with enthusiasm.

“What do I feed you?” Kenma asks aloud, as though he expects the animal to speak back. It walks into the kitchen, but acknowledges nothing in particular.

The presence the animal offers makes the house seem less empty to Kenma, and he occasionally watches it as it trots by to pay attention to something new - something more interesting. When the black mass of fur gives up on the lower floor, it vanishes to visit the second, but little offers it entertainment, and it comes down to curl up on Kenma’s lap, purring noisily. It doesn’t move and shift often in its sleep so it doesn’t bother Kenma. It allows him to keep his eyes on the game screen and he can sit still for long periods of time.

As the sky transitions into a red-orange color, Kenma stands, shooing the cat. He attempts to usher the cat out of the house, but when it decides that it doesn’t need to leave and Kenma isn’t assertive enough, the boy leaves to fetch cat supplies. He first asks his neighbors, who offer the little things they have, - food and treats - and Kenma finds himself standing in a small convenience store, pulling things from shelves. He buys cheap, not even sure how long the feline plans to linger.

“I don’t even want this cat,” Kenma grumbles, holding all of the newly purchased materials in his backpack. He walks home slowly, the sky becoming more navy blue than red now.

Kenma has never seen a sky full of stars in his life. He wonders what the Tokyo skyline looks like with dotted specks, but a pessimistic part of him contemplates the idea that it looks unimpressive and nothing more special than the empty, light polluted one he sees every night. He’s also never seen a shooting star, but if he were to see one now, he would probably wish...

“I wish this cat would get out of my house.”

Opening the door, he watches the feline pass between the hallway, traveling between the living room to the kitchen. It doesn’t pay Kenma any mind, even as he is setting up the materials throughout the house. As the water heats up and fills the bath as the Kenma organizes, the mere presence of the cat is beginning to wear him down. He’s ready to sleep, but the constant meowing of the feline causes him to stress more and more.

After his bath, Kenma settles, lifting the cat under it’s forelegs and holds it away from his body. He carries it up the stairs, and plops it onto his bed. Switching off the lights, Kenma slips beneath the covers, and the cat meows.

“Shut up,” Kenma mutters, turning his body towards the wall. His voice was weak and he had little meaning to his words.

* * *

"Good morning, sunshine. You sure sleep a lot for someone who only plays video games,” a voice says, and Kenma almost immediately reacts. He’s jolted from his sleep, and struggles to fight the weight of an arm on his body. Backing into the wall, he cusses, opening his eyes, making out a body that is _definitely_ not a cat, and absolutely larger than he is.

“A- You- Who-,” Kenma stutters, jumbled words falling from his mouth. Panic arises from deep in his gut, but he can’t bring himself to scream or do anything. He isn’t wholly scared, because the presence of the person in front of him seems familiar, but more so confused and uncomfortable.

The person cocks a brow, and sits up. Rolling his shoulders, he turns to look at the boy with the poor dye job and chuckles, a smirk rising up on his face. “You don’t treat a god very nicely,” he chirps, slipping out of bed. He’s dressed from shoulders to ankles in traditional attire. The light yukata shifts and sways as he walks towards the door without further explanation.

Kenma feels the need to ask questions himself, when he really shouldn’t. The stranger in his bed should elaborate almost immediately, and three questions come to mind quickly.

“God?” the blond asks, his voice quiet. He forces the blankets off of his body and kicks them away from his feet, and the black-haired stranger turns to acknowledge the question.

He nods, and says, “Me. You didn’t treat me very nicely. Me, as in, a god.”

“What, do you have middle school syndrome? You think you’re a god?” Kenma asks, stepping onto the cold floor slowly. He reaches for his phone, typing in an emergency number without looking, hoping the stranger won’t notice. They don’t, and spend more time rebutting to Kenma’s accusation.

“I don’t _think_ I’m a god - I _am_. You found me at a shrine, right? Cat god, unfortunately, but better than some other titles.”

Kenma searches the room for the black feline, and the feeling of displeasure grows larger in him. It’s nowhere, and that _stupid smirk_ that the stranger is wearing is the same one that the cat had. Kenma’s second question is immediately answered - “Where’s the cat?” and he no longer needs to ask it. He closes his phone, unsure if he can trust the “god” enough to not have the emergency line at the touch of a button.

“P-prove it,” Kenma demands, though it sounds more like a question to the cat god than an order.

“Prove what? That a cat god title is better than some?”

“N-no, you idiot...” The god reacts with a raised eyebrow to being called an idiot, but doesn’t say anything more. “Prove you’re a ‘god.’”

Rubbing his chin, the stranger shrugs. “How? Hmm.... Your family name is Kozume, given name is Kenma. Two weeks ago was the last time you bought your most recent game, and you didn’t even want it - it was cheap, you wanted a new game, and you didn’t have a lot of money. You don’t like cats, or any animal, actually, and despite your interest in video games, the novel versions are boring to you.”

Kenma’s eyes shift around the room, looking to a new place whenever the stranger spouted a correct fact. He searched for answers in the items scattered around the room - answers to how the stranger had guessed correctly - and even hints in his body language that suggested that he was bluffing or recalling knowledge from what he’d seen in his house.

Not once had Kenma mentioned his given name, but the possibility of the stranger knowing his family name was on a plaque next to the front gate. Was the person a stalker, maybe? Had he been following Kenma around, tracking him through the internet and following him to the bank and the game store?

“I’m not a stalker,” the stranger says, before Kenma can ask him out loud. “My name is Kuroo - literally meaning ‘black tail.’ Hence, I’m a black cat,” he states, fixing the sleeves of his yukata. He seems to take little of what he is saying seriously, but at the same time, very little of the person could be described as “serious.”

Kenma wonders if he’s supposed to feel like he needs to faint. He’s most certainly at a loss of words and he’s absolutely confused, but his knees don’t feel weak. He steps forward, cautiously, but he gives the stranger - Kuroo - a look of weary. He extends his hand, expecting it to make it through the body, despite feeling the weight of the person’s arm on him earlier. When they come into physical contact and the black-haired “god” looks at the small boy in confusion, Kenma wonders if this nightmare will be over if he crawls back into bed and wakes up again - because this could all be a dream.

“G-go away,” Kenma says, pushing Kuroo out of the open doorway. “I don’t want you here - cat or not.”

“You bought a litter box, though,” Kuroo teases as he puts up little effort to fight the boy pushing him. “It kind of seems like you want me here.”

“I don’t. I just didn’t want a cat doing its business on my floors. Shoo,” Kenma says, closing the door in Kuroo’s face.

The voice that comes from behind the door is muffled, but clear enough to say that he probably has his face pressed to it. “This isn’t how you should treat a god,” it teases in a singsong tone, and then it vanishes. After several silent moments pass, Kenma hesitantly reaches for the doorknob and twists, expecting to see the same annoying face there.  
He’s gone, and the house is empty of another presence again.

To reassure himself, Kenma checks every closet and room. He opens the door to his parents’ bedroom slowly, finding what he expected - empty of the cat/human hybrid “god,” as well as his parents. He checks the kitchen, where the bowl of food he’d left out the night before is still sitting there, having only lost a few bites worth of kibble. Except for the cars humming by outside and the other average sounds of city life, the Kozume residence is silent.

It’s Sunday, Kenma reminds himself, and he curls up onto the couch to play a game.

When the doorbell chimes, he’s startled from his deep thoughts. He hadn’t heard the gate at the sidewalk creak open to allow someone up the sidewalk. He climbs to his feet, and opens the door.

“I’m here to offer you some good d-”

“Kuroo,” Kenma says, closing the door almost immediately to the “god’s” door-to-door salesman costume.

The same routine continues for more times than anyone could consider funny. A policeman, a maid, a missionary, a cat. The latter took Kenma a moment to notice, but when he looked down to see the stupid feline attempting to sneak past his legs, he kicked it out and closed the door. Each time the door shuts, Kenma states, “Leave me alone,” rather blatantly. (At some point, Kenma was only beginning to open the door to humor himself and Kuroo.)

On Kuroo’s final attempt (which lacked a disguise and involved him wearing the same yukata from what he’d woken up in), Kenma couldn’t force the door shut. The larger figure held the door open with his hand pressed flatly to it, and made a statement.

“I’m attached to you, so I can’t just leave, you know?”

“Can’t I just pray you away or something? And how did you even get attached to me?”

Kuroo shrugs. “Something about no one visiting my shrine and you stopped in. Besides, it’s a god’s job to grant people their wishes, whether or not they come to them personally or not. You’re lonely, and I’m here to fix that.”

“I’m not lonely,” Kenma says, attempting to close the door again. Utilizing all of his pent up force, he still fails. At this point, he’s unsure if he should allow Kuroo in or keep trying to get the door shut. “Is there any chance you’ll leave if I lock you out again?”

Kuroo shakes his head adamantly, and Kenma retires. He lets go of the door and returns to his place on the couch after fetching himself a slice of pie from the fridge. The familiar recipe and taste could probably soothe his frayed nerves and relax him, but something about the black-haired fellow overlooking his every move and knowing too much about him was something even apple pie couldn’t fix.

“You’re stressing me out,” Kenma states bluntly. He doesn’t consider Kuroo’s reaction even in the slightest, but what he gets isn’t anything like what Lev or the others give him when he states his harsher opinions. The cat (god) shrugs and apologizes, saying that Kenma will eventually get used to his presence.

“Why am I stressing you out, anyways?” he asks, not looking up as he rummages through the fridge. Kenma pokes and prods at the apple pie - his third slice within the past ten minutes - and he shrugs.

“You’re watching my every move. You’re in my house. You’re a stranger.”

“I’m not watching your every move,” Kuroo says. “Besides, if we wanted to, gods could see your every move whether you can see us or not.” That factor makes Kenma uncomfortable, but he doesn’t ask for any evaluation on it. Had Kuroo been watching him all along? “I was in your house as a cat, too, and it didn’t seem to bother you.” Kenma wants to roll his eyes. He’d been a cat at the time. It’s not like cats have a fully developed consciousness. “Plus, I’m not a stranger. I gave you my name.”

“I still want to think you’re just a crazy third year high school student with a really bad case of middle school syndrome. I don’t want to take care of a god.”

“You taking care of me?” Kuroo laughs. It’s deep and throaty and genuine, but in a mocking sort of way. “Kenma, I’m here to keep watch over you.”

“You won’t even call me by my last name,” Kenma states, which should be an obvious Japanese custom. He imagines gods would reside by it, too. He doesn’t mind whether or not Kuroo calls him Kozume, because those sorts of things don’t really matter to him. In actuality, he just wants to know why Kuroo seems to feel so familiar and acts as though the two have known each other all their lives.

“It doesn’t feel right,” he answers, closing the fridge door. He sits on the stool across from Kenma at the kitchen island, and he rests his chin on his hand. “Bonds gods form with people they attach to are instantaneous. It might not be reciprocated, but the one I feel is usually strong right off the bat. The moment you stopped at my road shrine, the connection formed. By personality, people I feel close to - you, for instance - get called by their given name. It’s the way I am.”

Kenma flushes, his sputtering on his words as he attempts to form a sentence. Something in particular about Kuroo’s presence is embarrassing, but it isn’t taking a negative toll on the fake blond. No one has ever defined their relationship with Kenma as “close” or “instantaneous.” He’s always been distant, closing others off. The person he’s felt closest to his entire life is his mother, or maybe Keiji during his sociable days. By instinct, Kenma had never imagined someone would form a strong bond with him, and even now, it genuinely surprises him.

Unable to form a full sentence, he makes out, “You- That’s- It’s- Why- Embarrassing-”

“What? You don’t need to be sociable or the outgoing, popular kid in the class, and I guess for you, solitude is a nice thing, but humans need socialization sometimes. I’m here to keep you company. Just-”

“Y-you can stay.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen a bit, but his body remains still. His eyes stay trained on Kenma, who also moves at a minimum. He’s still fidgeting with his pie, though, when he says, “I don’t really get lonely, but the company could be nice.”

The smirk that’s becoming stupidly familiar to Kenma pops back up on the cat god’s face. He nods, and allows a comfortable silence to sink in.

* * *

“You can’t leave the house looking like that,” Kenma says, eyeing Kuroo from head to toe. The traditional Japanese garbs would bring attention to the two, and that’s the last thing the small pudding head needs (or wants). “Put something more normal on. A t-shirt or a jacket or something.”

“Hmm? Fine, fine,” Kuroo says, vanishing into the bathroom. Whether Kuroo gets his attire (not to mention the random costumes) from isn’t a bother to Kenma - he probably doesn’t want to know, anyways.

He comes back out in simple clothes - probably capable of blending in. His heinous hairstyle (which actually suits him quite well, Kenma notes) is another situation, but the human doesn’t say anything about it.

Securing his home keys and phone in his backpack, he gives Kuroo an expectant look to follow without speaking. The god catching the look in the corner of his eye and follows close behind, familiarizing himself with all of Kenma’s little looks and gestures that mean a variety of things.

A quiet, monotone stare or glance at from the corner of his eye usually means Kuroo is expected to follow or hurry. A direct stare up at, maybe even with a cocked eyebrow, means, “What else do you think?” or, “What took you so long?” A soft, barely noticeable touch of Kenma putting his hand on Kuroo’s forearm means to calm down or, “It’s going to be okay.” A bland glance away with slightly tight lips means something Kuroo said was embarrassing or awkward - to whom, Kuroo doesn’t know.

As they walk, Kenma attempts at minor conversation. Eventually, as he grows annoyed with the small talk, he asks, “How long do you plan to stay?”

“There’s not really a specific time frame,” Kuroo explains. “Just until you’re not lonely anymore.”

“I’m not lonely in the first place,” Kenma continues to say whenever Kuroo mentions him feeling even an ounce of loneliness. _Solitude if my forte_ , Kenma continues to say to convince himself. It’s what he’s familiar with, and familiarity is good, after all.

“Why you?”

“Why me, what?”

Kenma pauses to sort his thoughts and arrange his words properly. “Why is it that you of all gods decided to keep me company? Wasn’t there another option? Maybe someone less stressful?”

Kuroo laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “ _Actually_ , I’m a good candidate because you’re not really capable of taking care of someone. You’re barely even capable of taking care of yourself. Cats are known for being easy to raise and keep, which I guess is why old people usually like cats,” Kuroo laughs, “and I’m also capable of taking care of you. Something like that.”

“But why did you decide to take care of me?”

“The moment you prayed to my shrine to use it as a shelter, you showed me everything inside of you. Because of that, I formed that bond I was telling you about. I could have chosen to not follow you home, but I’m capable of helping you, so I followed you.”

“Did it ever appeal to you that I don’t need help?”

“Everyone needs help sometimes.” Kuroo pauses in his footsteps, taking Kenma in. He turns to see why the god stopped, and Kuroo can’t help but think, _Gods exist because humans needed help. We exist because people created us. We’ll vanish when we’re no longer needed._ It’s something he yearns to say, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“It’s getting really cold,” Kuroo comments after a long period of silence. The smaller male doesn’t bother to physically acknowledge him, but Kuroo recognizes his body language nonetheless. Kenma agrees, he figures. “You didn’t wear a scarf or jacket. Aren’t you cold?”

“Not really,” Kenma replies, barely paying attention. It’s a rare occasion for him, he guesses. He’s paying attention the the windows of the shops and other things the city has to show, rather than his phone or video game. His head also isn’t tilted downward, but that might be because Kuroo is behind him, a sense of safety filling him.  
“Are we supposed to be getting anything in particular?” the god calls from behind, pressing his hand against the window of a sweets shop. His bland expression doesn’t show much interest in getting what’s inside, but he seems more fascinating with what the world has to offer.

Kenma shakes his head. Turning to face Kuroo, he explains, “You plan to be staying here for a while, am I correct? You’re going to need to familiarize yourself with the area. I have school Monday through Saturday, and I don’t imagine you want to wait inside the house the whole day until I come home.”

“I imagine your games could keep me entertained for pretty long, you know.” Kuroo shrugs, half-committed. “It would be nice to walk around, too, though.”

They only wander for an hour or so. Kuroo notices that the human boy is shivering more and more as the sun begins to set, so he strips himself of his jacket and wraps it around him. It’s large and seems to swallow Kenma whole. He lets out an “oof” noise as it’s wrapped over him, the hood covering his head. Looking up to the taller male immediately, he finds Kuroo breaking the direct eye contact.

“We should return to your home,” he states. “You’ll get sick.”

Kenma walks at a slow-but-steady pace, and he’s easy to catch up to and bypass. Kuroo finds himself having to stop walking and wait for the fake blond to catch up, and eventually, he adjusts his pace so that he can walk in-sync with Kenma. He’s immediately sure that one day, he’ll muster up the strength (and become familiar enough with Kenma) to just carry him on his back home.

Walking isn’t the only thing he does liesurely. He unlocks the door slowly, then removes his shoes slowly once he’s inside the house. He’s also slow to remove Kuroo’s jacket, which neither of them mind. It doesn’t leave his body until he bathes, when he hands it to Kuroo before entering the bathroom. “I don’t need it anymore. Thank-you,” is all he says, and he locks himself in the water closet.

The nighttime conversation that Kuroo makes is minimal. He notes that Kenma is tired, so he says very little. He eventually sees him to his room, standing in the doorway until the blond crawls into his bed and covers himself. He faces the doorway, exhaling a long stream of breath. Kuroo furrows a brow, but still, he says nothing.  
“Why did you come now? Why this specific time of year?”

Kuroo shrugs. “No particular reason,” he says. “The thing is, though: Fall and winter is the time of the year when people get most lonely and most depressed. It’s just coincidence that I came now, but maybe by chance, I get to make sure that doesn’t have to happen to you.”

“You’re a nice person to have around... when you’re not being annoying.”

Kenma’s words struck the god like a knife, but he merely laughed them off. They didn’t really hurt him emotionally, but the bluntness felt as though Kenma had just hit him in the head with a baseball bat.

Turning to leave, he reached for the light switch. Before he could snap it downwards to turn the lights off, Kenma muttered, “You can sleep in here.”

* * *

Kenma feels pressure on him, as expected. It’s no different from the prior morning, but this time, the feeling is different. The weight is coming from the front, and in front of Kenma, there seems to be a wall (it’s solid and sturdy, but it’s warm). He pries his eyes shut, shying away from the light creeping into the room from between the cracks in the curtains.

Kuroo is directly in front of him, a hulking mass of a body that has its arm wrapped around Kenma. He barely minds, but he doesn’t want the weight and extra heat anymore, and he forces every inch of Kuroo away, pushing him.

Kuroo rolls onto the floor.

Unlike the legends say, cats do not always land on their feet.

Groaning and writhing in pain that’s almost nonexistent, Kuroo props himself up. “You could just say, ‘Hey, wake up.” He watches Kenma crawl out of bed and step over him, brushing him off. “No sorry? Oh, should I expect a formal apology letter in the mail? What about an e-mail?”

Kenma leaves the room, utterly silent. He spares a glance back in the god’s direction, who is wearing a fake pout. “I hope I get one anyways!”

When Kenma spins around and leaves the bedroom, Kuroo’s frown turns into lazy smirk and he stands, lifting the fallen blankets back onto the bed. He slips out of the room and searches for a snack in the kitchen.

He doesn’t carry the same burdens humans have, such as the need to eat and other things humans must do to stay alive and stay healthy. He _does_ enjoy treating himself to simple joys, though. Food tastes good and baths feel nice. A good treat every now and then doesn’t affect him in any way, especially negatively.

After rummaging through the fridge, Kuroo chooses a slice of apple pie, eyeing it wearily. He takes a spoon from a drawer and picks at it, biting it.

“If you’re going to be a waste of food, then don’t eat,” Kenma says from the archway. Kuroo jumps, turning to face the blond. He takes a full bite off the spoon and smiles. Kenma, usually observant, isn’t even sure if the god is smiling to prove he’s enjoying the food or to tease.

Looking into the smudged glass for his reflection, Kenma fixes his tie. Adjusting the jacket in the front, he flinches when something comes into his view from over his head. Seeming to have summoned a scarf from thin air, Kuroo wraps the golden brown fabric around Kenma.

He turns to look to the other with a questioning look on his face. Kuroo smirks, as usual, and tells Kenma, “It’s going to be cold out.”

Kenma nods, not saying much, and grabs his bag. His fidgeting, shaking fingers tell Kuroo that he’s grateful, and he dismisses himself as he slips out the door. The god says, “See you,” loud enough to still be heard from the kitchen, and he grabs the remainder of his apple pie and checks the television for something intersting and human.

As makes it past Kenma without him noticing, the same applies to his friend. Keiji questions him about the new scarf, having never seen Kenma buy clothes exclusively for the cold weather. His typical winter attire was a few more layers than usual and a grumpy disposition and face. Keiji asks the meaning behind the scarf, but Kenma nearly shrugs.  
The two do not attend the same school, but the academy that Kenma’s friend attends is nearby and on the way. The two quietly walk with one another and part halfway to Fukuroudani. They say farewell through waves, and Kenma returns to staring at his cellphone screen to fill the silence.

Nothing changes, despite the new face in his house. His walk to school is typical, and he sits in the same chair and listens to the same teachers talking. He expects Kuroo to be annoying and be perched in the tree outside, but he isn’t (which is good). Kenma sees nothing of him for several hours, and as per usual, he sits at his desk after the final bell until everyone is gone. Some days, he has after school activities, and others, none.

Kenma finds himself wondering if he wants to return home quickly or if he would rather sit in the class until late. He ponders the option as soon as the last student leaves and the door slides shut. Glancing in the direction of the window, he looks nowhere in particular, as though the sky would give him an answer to his question. Standing, he gathers his stuff together, and leaves.  
Nekoma is not near his home, but it isn’t far either. Along the way, he stops in front of the shrine he’d been at only two days before. He doesn’t approach it, but he stares. Kuroo had come from there, but Kenma only recongnized him as a bothersome cat. Now that the resident no longer occupied it, the shrine seemed empty and desolate.

Kenma had never seen anyone stop along the way to visit it. Despite Kuroo’s reasoning to follow Kenma home, perhaps Kuroo might have been lonely, too. Behind his quirky and confident demeanor, he’d attached himself so quickly to Kenma. It might have been desperation, as well as a god’s desire to give humans what they need and want.  
Kenma is _somewhat_ grateful for the new company. He turns his head away from the shrine and continues on his way home, finding the front gate and door unlocked.

Dropping his bag down by the door, Kenma peeks into the kitchen and living room and finds that Kuroo is nowhere to be found. He checks upstairs, expecting him to be curled up (possibly as a cat) on the bed, but he isn’t there, either. Nor is he in the bathroom, soaking in the tub. With the cat god nowhere to be found, Kenma finds his heart rate accelerating and his mind creating hundreds of awful possible scenarios.

“You okay, _Kenma_?” a voice asks, stressing the _ke_ sound in his his name. The voice comes from the bedroom, and Kenma whirls around to find Kuroo upside down outside the window.

The fake blond frowns, staring him down. Kuroo vanishes from site, then comes down feet first and slips back into the home with cat-like flexibility, crouching on the bed. He’d obviously been sitting up on the roof, easy to miss from the front of the house.

“What if someone had seen you up there? Or-” Kenma pauses, “Or climbing back into the house?”

“Don’t worry, worrywart.” Kuroo waves his hand in dismissal of Kenma’s stress. “I allow others to see me when I want them to see me. I could have followed you around all day and you would never know I was right beside you.”

“Did you?” Kenma asks, his tonality sharp. Kuroo can tell that he’s acting strict because he doesn’t want to be followed, and if Kuroo had been attached to him like a tail all day, it could be considered _creepy._

“No,” Kuroo muses, fascinated by Kenma’s current personality, “but what if I did?”

“I would prefer you let me know first,” he mutters, moving to close the window behind Kuroo. “You’re persistent and you like to be physically close to m-” Kenma cuts himself short to correct his word choice, “- _people_ , so I expect you to get curious and follow.”

“What were you originally going to say?” Kuroo asks, climbing off the bed with swift movements and he travels closer to Kenma, furrowing a brow. “You were saying, ‘You like to be close to _m_ -’”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change my point.”

“Were you going to say that I like to be close to you?” Kuroo’s voice doesn’t sound even slightly villainous, as though he’s mocking Kenma. In fact, the way that he’s speaking sounds more like Kenma was originally _right_ , or even if Kuroo just wants his own assumptions to be correct.

He sets his hand on Kenma’s shoulder, looking down on him with a crooked smile. Kenma nods, averting his eyes to look anywhere else in the room. Anywhere other than his smirk which was widening to a grin that flaunted his teeth. Shaking his shoulder, Kenma rid himself of the electric feeling from their physical contact. He wishes his deep understanding of Kuroo would vanish, and with it, the stirring feeling in his gut would go, too.

“Well, you’re right. It doesn’t make you uncomfortable, does it - me being close to you?”

Perhaps that it’s just because he’s Kuroo that Kenma doesn’t mind. His presence is large, but it is also comfortable. He also finds that Kuroo doesn’t do anything that makes him feel bothered and unsafe. The god had somehow slipped into Kenma’s life quickly, but it was done in a way that was alright and didn’t cause Kenma to feel unsettled.

Keiji could be considered emotionally and mentally close, but he was similar to Kenma. Neither of them were assertively touchy and they both kept to their own physical space, but Kuroo is not like Keiji. He sits close to Kenma, touches him constantly, drapes his arm over him in his sleep, and stands unusually close to him when they talk. But most of all, he causes a strong feeling to rise up inside of Kenma.

That’s a trait that Keiji definitely doesn’t have.

Slowly, Kenma shakes his head. No, Kuroo being close doesn’t make him uncomfortable.

The reaction immediately causes Kuroo to grin even more than he initially had been. He’s smiling to his ears and his shoulders are beginning to shake as he tries to stifle his laughter. “Good,” he says.

“Anyways,” Kuroo starts, stepping around Kenma. “You should probably eat. I didn’t see you take anything for lunch today. Oh, and I’ll make you stuff tomorrow.”  
“Why?” Kenma asks, immediately recovering from the sinking feeling in his gut. He turns to Kuroo, raising his eyebrow.

He hasn’t heard someone speak about making him lunch in a long time, and he never had the time or energy to do it for himself in the morning. Perhaps Kuroo being around has more benefits than just one.

“You need food,” he states, wagging his finger. “You humans sure have a lot of requirements to live.” He sticks on a, “ _Tisk, tisk, tisk_ ,” at the end, as though he’s shaming the entire human populace, but instead, points his finger at Kenma. “You’re bad at taking care of yourself. How are you supposed to manage when I’m gone?”

“I’ve been fine up until now,” Kenma argues.

The god shrugs. “I dunno,” he says with a doubtful tone. He moves to tug on the edges of Kenma’s vest and adjust his jacket, even placing his hands on Kenma’s sides for a brief moment. “You’re really small... and short.”

Kenma whacks him. “Not everyone can be a freaking giant like you.”

“Maybe if you drank more _milk_ -” Kuroo begins, but is immediately cut of my a sharp jab in his stomach. “Y-yeah, I’m done.”

* * *

It becomes a typical pattern to have Kuroo around within the next month. Kenma’s morning routine, which had drastically changed in the beginning, now feels usual to him once more.

He wakes up with a blanket of warmth over him, which he doesn’t mind because of the winter weather, and he leaves to get ready. Kuroo leaves the bedroom sometime after him and creeps down into the kitchen with silent stealth to make Kenma his lunch, and every morning, he finds the cat god sitting on a stool eating some kind of snack he’s snagged from the fridge. Kenma wraps himself in the scarf, but one some mornings, Kuroo does it for him, and he leaves with a quiet parting.

He’s never quite sure how Kuroo spends his days during school hours, and on the days Kenma returns home at a later hour, Kuroo is much more fidgety. Those days, he usually hovers more and makes peeks over Kenma’s shoulder even more often than normal. He also seems to be packed with much more energy, having nothing to waste it on.

When Kenma asks Kuroo how he spends his day, he can only shrug in response. Unlike his smaller companion, he has no routine to his day, except in the morning. Some days, he wastes a few hours watching television, and on others, he walks around the nearby neighborhood. He’s sure to never be seen, putting a veil over his presence. He’s restless during the day, and the feeling grows stronger as the hours pass. He’s found that he’s besotted with little things about Kenma, too.

“What do you like to do? For fun, that is.” Kuroo asks, out of the blue. He has his legs pulled up on the couch, crossed in front of him. He’s glancing over at Kenma, who is playing a video game, paying him little mind.

“I like games.”

“Well, that’s obvious. Anything else?”

Absentmindedly, Kenma lists some activities, but one thing in the list catches Kuroo’s attention more than anything else. “Volleyball.”  


“What’s that?” he asks, tentative to whatever explanation Kenma has to offer.

The blond pauses his game to look at Kuroo, raising a brow. “You’re a god; You haven’t heard of volleyball?”  
Kuroo brushes off his question with a mere, “I don’t have a lot of time to familiarize myself with human affairs,” but Kenma sure notices that he has a lot of time to keep up with some dumb soap opera.

Kenma rambles and stutters as he tries to explain what the sport is. He explains it through a series of gestures (Kuroo thinks Kenma moves slowly, like an old man trapped in a young boy’s body) and terminology and explanation, but when he sees that Kuroo still doesn’t understand, he pulls up a video on his phone.

“I’ll show you how to play later. You might like it,” Kenma says, looking elsewhere around the room, slightly embarrassed by his poor explaining abilities. He fidgets with his fingers and presses the tips together, and Kuroo nods.

“Sounds like a plan.”

And, just as usual, they climb upstairs and into bed. Day by day, Kuroo gradually moves closer to Kenma in the bed, still keeping his arm wrapped securely around the other. He eventually settles with pulling Kenma towards his torso, so that they are touching from shoulders to toes. In the beginning, Kenma wasn’t amused by the touching and physical contact, but like everything else, it slipped into his routine.

After leaving for school the next morning, Kuroo crouches by the doorway in his cat form and bids Kenma farewell. He lets out a wide yawn and pads into the kitchen, slipping back into his “human” shape, and dresses up into something that Kenma would call normal.

He safely wanders around the neighborhood for school hours, sure to remain invisible to human eyes. He can’t escape the watchful and aware stares of animals and babies, however, but it’s not like they can do much to give him away. A few pets bark and hiss at him, only to have people nearby shushing and scolding the animals.

What captivates Kuroo the most is the school building with the sign that reads, “Nekoma High School,” in gold capital letters. He recognizes the name from Kenma’s school attire, and he slips in, unnoticed. Following Kenma around isn’t what is on his mind. What is really driving him and keeping him motivated is curiosity and the want to know what volleyball is.  
He’s waited long enough to know that school is over, slipping between people as they leave the campus. He sees Kenma nowhere in sight, and follows the sound of shouting and other things (balls slamming around, etc.). He weakens his presence even more, so that not even Kenma will notice him. Crouching down by the doorway, he watches.

Kenma, standing close to the net, tosses up the balls that come flying in his direction, only to have them hit down to the other side. Kuroo watches in wonder, observing the repetition of the action with different people running up to approach the tossed up ball. As time passes, different events begin to take place, such as lap running around the gymnasium (which Kenma does slowly, as expected), and other team members taking harsh attacks to their arms. If Kuroo can remember correctly, he’s been observing setting, spiking, and blocking.

A sharp, high-pitched noise yanks him from his daze, as well as his deep concentration. His mask is immediately gone, as though it were ripped off of him. The entirety of Nekoma’s volleyball team is looking at him, and he has absolutely no explanation as to why he’s here.

Kenma says his name, breaking the silence in the gym with his confusion. A member looks to him for an explanation, but for a lack of a better lie, Kenma sputters out, “H-he’s living with me... He’s an, uh, exchange student.”

The team’s ace, Kenma could say, approaches Kuroo and looks down on him. He’s releasing an aura of dominance over the court, but when the cat god stands, towering over him, he immediately shrinks down and backs up a bit. Kuroo then extends his open hand forward, offering his name, only as Kuroo, and the ace, Taketora, exchanges personal information.

Only at this moment does it dawn on Kenma that Kuroo lacks another name. He only goes by “Kuroo,” as that was what Kenma has been calling him since they met. The need for another name had never come up, and the entire time, he’s probably just been assuming Kuroo was his family name, when in fact, Kuroo didn’t _have_ one.

It takes Kuroo less than ten minutes to familiarize himself with the team, and quickly, they jump on inviting him to practice. Kuroo attempts to politely decline, but curiosity gets the best of him. He wants to play, and thus, he agrees.

Roles and rules are explained to him, and by the end of practice, he’s gotten a pretty decent grasp on blocking. Taketora makes some kind of excuse about how Kuroo has a “height advantage” and is probably some “ace student.” He huffs in approval of Kuroo being around and adds, “Who knows, you might end up being an ace middle blocker.”

Kuroo chuckles, which eventually turns into him braying like a donkey. “This is only a one time thing! I just wanted to see Kenma in-action, is all! I found it kind of hard to believe that he plays a sport, because all I see is him playing video games.”

Kenma shoots him a glance of disapproval, and leaves to change out of his practice clothes. He drags Kuroo home, but somewhere, stirring in the back of his mind, he feels as though practices are going to be different. Kuroo won’t be there, definitely, but he’s caused a ripple effect. The team has taken a notice to Kenma outside of him being their setter, which means they’ll begin to see him as a friend more, too.

He doesn’t mind this. It’s not bad, and according to Kuroo, this is a good thing. He’s unsure how to register the new conversations when he attends club activities the next day, especially when the libero makes some comment about him being the teams “valued setter.” He’s flattered, and when he tells Kuroo of this, he pats him on the head with a wide, genuine smile.

* * *

“Oh?” Kuroo chirps, running his index finger over the paper. Glancing down at the planner, he cocks his brow to a note left for the beginning of November. Written down reads, “Kuro arrives,.”. Keeping track of the days, he knows that this was the day he had arrived, but he’s surprised for two reasons: Kenma marked the date and he shortens his name (even if only a little).

“What are you doing?” Kenma asks, grabbing the planner and tucking it away in his bag. He seems to have no trace of embarrassment as he looks up to Kuroo.

“You shorten my name?”

Kenma nods, directing his eyes elsewhere. “I-it’s more... friendly. You call me by my given name, so it’s only fair I... give you a nickname.”

After a moment in stunned silence, Kuroo nods. He huffs a bit and moves towards the window to glance outside. A feeling of protection washes over him when he sees an unfamiliar face opening the front gate, but immediately snaps out of it when the doorbell rings and Kenma mutters, “Oh, that’s probably Akaashi,” and dismisses himself.

“Bye,” Kuroo says, flicking his tail that Kenma swore hadn’t been there before.

Kuroo is sure that he can’t be seen. He pulls the blinds in just the right way to watch Kenma leave the property, making quiet and monotone conversation with his friend, and a new idea tingles down Kuroo’s back. He’s set on making sure Kenma socializes and makes friends, but it wouldn’t hurt to strengthen a bond between already existing friends, right?

He waits for Kenma to get home. He waits, and waits, and waits. Impatience stirs in his gut, and he contemplates visiting his volleyball practice again, but that won’t speed up time and he wants Kenma to socialize on his own.

This isn’t a game of “make the introvert an extrovert,” though. All Kuroo wants is for Kenma to no longer feel alone. He doesn’t want him to sit in his home in complete and utter silence with an empty feeling, or to allow the people in his life to pass him by. Even if it’s just a bit more talking to the people on his team or talking a bit more comfortably to his friend, Akaashi, Kuroo will do what it takes. He doesn’t want to pick up a trace of lonesome from Kenma whenever he passes by Kuroo’s rugged old shrine on the side of the road.

“I’m home,” breaks Kuroo’s deep train of thought. He swiftly turns to see what time it is. 6:00, on the dot. As always, on days with practice.

Kuroo practically drifts towards the doorway, poking his head out of the kitchen archway. “You didn’t mention that you have another quiet friend,” he says, practically emanating the energy of his idea. Kenma pays the aura no mind as he removes his shoes and unwraps his scarf.

“He’s Akaashi,” Kenma says. “He’s not like me, so don’t go pestering him next.”

Kuroo cocks a brow when he realizes that Kenma thinks he’s going to enter Keiji’s life next. With an adamant shake of his head, he says, “Not what I meant.”

“Good. Besides, Akaashi already has a noisy, extroverted friend, so I don’t think he gets very lonely. Bokuto is good at hovering.”

Kuroo chuckles. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I was just going to say that you should spend more time with Akaashi and bond more. You two have been friends for a while, right?” Kenma nods. “I think you guys should try to hang out a bit more often. Maybe once a week or something.” Kenma, hesitant, complies.

The next day, he doesn’t return home until 8:00 at night.

* * *

They’re once ghostly bond feels a bit stronger, Kenma notes. It wasn’t like they weren’t considering each other friends. Sometimes, Kenma wished Keiji attended Nekoma - or he went to Fukuroudani - so they could speak more. Kuroo still thinks his idea was as innocent as ideas get. “A simple _suggestion_ ,” he called it.

To Kenma, however, he felt closer to Keiji. For a while, during their walk to Keiji’s house, Koutarou - the one Keiji refers to as “Bokuto-san” - walks with them. He constantly beams with excitement and acts as though he’s familiar with everyone he meets. His brash, energetic personality startled Kenma at first, but his aura of kindness conquers that fear. He occasionally rubbed up against Kenma or Keiji while they were talking, and bit a loud, boisterous farewell when they parted ways.

During their walk with Koutarou, Keiji’s tolerant side had become more obvious to Kenma, as well. Before, he was just a quiet fellow, but with Koutarou, he extended acts of kindness and comfort through socialization and tolerance (with the occasional exhausted “get me out of here” face). He’d always been kind with Kenma, but with Koutarou, it was another thing. Keiji eventually explains that when people don’t pay attention to Koutarou, he becomes dejected and upset. He dislikes feeling like he’s not involved.

There becomes this overwhelming sense of familiarity with everything around him. He’s unsure why, but it makes Kenma feel less away and lonesome. He’s still able to comfortably keep his distance, - emotionally and physically - but everything and everyone seems to be closer in a _good_ way.

Kenma realizes this when he’s stuck under the weight of Kuroo’s arm, which he feels no need to push off of him. Lying there comfortably, he absorbs the heat into his skin and he basks in it. Part of Kenma wants to wake Kuroo up and bother him about his sudden revelation, but it’s not worth it, he figures. The god with the crooked smirk should know already. But still... He wants to say it for himself. He wants to hear his thoughts out loud (and he most definitely isn’t going to say it to the air).

Kuroo groans at his side, wrapping his arm around Kenma even tighter than usual. This pulls him closer into his chest, which is sudden at first, but it becomes comfortable. Kuroo’s heartbeat is loud and constant, a low thudding noise in his chest. It’s almost human, Kenma thinks.

It’s easy to stay like this on a Sunday, when there’s no school. No matter the situation, Kenma has always enjoyed waking up on a Sunday. There wasn’t an annoying alarm to yank him from his sleep and there was no tedious activity that he _had_ to do (school). Staying here in comfort isn’t impossible, and Kuroo makes sure that it is going to happen.

Kuroo is like the steady median between Keiji and Koutarou. He’s soothing and allows Kenma to have his distance, and he only does things that Kenma is comfortable with, but at the same time, he’s loud, pestering, and kind of obnoxious, but in just the right way.

Kenma is a distant type of person. He’s not particularly sure why, but allowing people close to him is something he’s never been good at. However, he’s the type to grow close to someone quickly when he opens himself up enough, and he feels as though they’re right for him. Perhaps that’s why he’s bonded so quickly with Kuroo. Perhaps that’s why people say he’s like a cat.

At first, he didn’t like Kuroo being around and how quickly he made himself comfortable. In the beginning, his presence was only a bother that he had to tolerate, but now, Kuroo was a valuable part of his life. He _likes_ him being here, and he doesn’t imagine that’s going to change anytime soon.

Kuroo stirs in his sleep, groaning as he moves to shift positions. His eyes open in the slowest, laziest way, gazing up at the roof as he takes in his surroundings.

His entire materialization and existence changes in a matter of seconds, and instead of a tall human being at Kenma’s side, there’s a cat. It stretches and yawns, and pounces off the bed, flicking its tail eagerly. Kenma groans, rolling away.

The cat - Kuroo - vanishes out the doorway and leaves Kenma to take his time getting up. The process is slow and exhausted. He’d returned home late the night before and went to bed even later. The sunlight hurts his eyes and moving hurts everywhere else. Hauling himself out of bed and into the bathroom is the most agonizing process.

In the kitchen, Kuroo is cooking breakfast. Kenma sits at the counter after pulling on new, fresh clothes. His face smacks the surface as he slowly drifts back into an early stage of sleep and Kuroo nudges at him.

“ _Oi_ , breakfast is done.”

Eventually Kenma mentions, “Akaashi is coming to study later today.”

“Oh? Good! It’s starting to seem like you don’t need me here anymore, then!” Kuroo says, waving his spatula.

Despite his lightheartedness, something inside him - his heart - sinks in pain. His chest tightens and it takes a moment for the air in his lungs to stop burning for and for him to breathe normally. Kenma observes this, but doesn’t say anything.

“I feel a bit closer to the people around me,” he states once Kuroo seems to be normal.

“Then, good! Do you feel as lonely as before?”

Kenma shakes his adamantly. “I never was lonely, I keep telling you. But... no.”

A smile props up the corners of Kuroo’s lips. He makes a proud stance, propping his hands on his hips, feet spread apart. His tail reappears from behind him and flicks with excitement.

“I definitely don’t need to hang around too much longer, then! You’re going to be entering your third year as a full-fledged socialite,” Kuroo jokes. He moves to take a spatula and drop the remainders from the frying pan onto Kenma’s plate, who looks overwhelmed.

“I’m still just an introvert,” Kenma states, poking his fork into the newly placed food.

“Still, Kuroo starts, “it’s a helpful skill to know how to talk to other people. Whether it be for an interview or for making and talking to friends, it’s a good skill. You don’t have to do it often, - hell, you don’t have to become an extrovert - but make sure you don’t get lonely again. I don’t want to have to come back and haunt you again.”

Something deep down inside Kenma makes him want to say something dumb and daring like, “I wouldn’t mind you coming back,” but he keeps his mouth shut. Twirling the fork in his fingers, he instead says something about not wanting the rest of his food and he gets up to get ready for Keiji.

* * *

“That one seems kind of expensive,” Kuroo chimes in from behind Kenma.

Disappointed, Kenma shoves the game back onto its shelf and continues browsing, crouching down whenever one of the games on the lower shelves catch his attention. That had been the seventh game Kuroo had turned down, all for dumb parental reasons. He’d allowed Kenma to come to the game store the a few days early for “Christmas celebrations,” but Kenma hadn’t expected Kuroo to turn down whatever game he pulled off the shelf.

“I don’t have this one,” Kenma says, pressing his thumb over the rating. “It’s not too expensive, either.”

Before Kenma can fight him, Kuroo grabs the game from his hands. “Ah, rated M. Graphic content and foul language,” Kuroo reads. “Kenma, Kenma, _Kenma_... This game doesn’t seem appropriate for you.”

“I’m not a little kid, Kuro,” Kenma says, snatching the game from his hand. “This is the one I want.”

Kuroo laughs, shrugging. “Fine, whatever you say, boss.”

The two check out with the single game, Kuroo handing over money (from God knows where). He twirls the bag around as they walk out of the store, ignoring the aura of irritation that Kenma is emanating. Kuroo points in windows and continuously asks questions like, “What’s the big deal about this Santa guy? Is Christmas Eve really the day those pay-by-the-hour love hotels make lots of money?” Kuroo also comments on almost everything he sees. Kenma’s personal favorite is: “Christmas music is really catchy, but it’s kind of annoying.”

As soon as they’re away from shops and back in the suburbs, Kuroo begins to ask questions about why Kenma likes games so much. He’s never been asked this, so he doesn’t know how to answer. He musters up a response about how they’re like an escape and “more enjoyable than this world” and “happiness you can buy.” Kuroo buys the response - probably because it wasn’t a total lie - and hums in response.

For the next few days, up until Christmas Eve, Kuroo sits beside Kenma whenever he plays the game and silently watches. He waits until Kenma comes home from school and when the smaller boy is ready to settle down, he sits between Kuroo’s legs and allows Kuroo to rest his chin on his head. Having Kuroo around Kenma like this is soothing in it’s own way.

When the Christmas is upon them, Kuroo hands Kenma a gift as soon as he’s in the kitchen in the morning. He’s beaming with excitement and when Kenma opens the box, he might as well be emanating the same amount of joy, too. He pulls out a stack of video games - each and every single game he’d plucked off the shelves from the game store, and he looks to Kuroo, expectant of an explanation.

“Kuro... How...”

“It’s not like I want you to be playing all of these _really inappropriate_ games,” Kuroo says as he points at a game that contains sexual content, “but I figured this would make you happy, and you won’t need to go to the store anytime soon. Plus, I wanted to save the good ol’ expensive games for the real present.”

“Where are you getting all of this money?”

“From my saved up shrine offerings, of course!” Kenma looks like he wants to pay Kuroo back, but Kuroo scolds him. “It’s a Christmas gift. Besides, it’s not even a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Kenma protests. “And aren’t shrine offerings supposed to be used for something _important_?”

In response, Kuroo shrugs and makes an excuse about how he has nothing else to spend the money on. He doesn’t mention that he used all of his offerings, despite residing in his shrine for hundreds of years. He doesn’t have much to offer in terms of cash, but Kenma doesn’t need to know that.

Kenma reads over the summaries of the games later in the day, sitting with Kuroo. He asks him questions about them, and Kuroo perks up when Kenma mentions that one of them was the game that he’d been wanting to get for a while now.

Christmas Eve feels incredibly warm to Kenma, but not in terms of weather. The heater is on high and Kuroo’s been making cups of hot cocoa every hour. By warm, Kenma means that it feels welcoming in his home and there isn’t an empty feeling. At different hours, Kuroo sits close to Kenma, and other times, he takes on the form of his cat and curls up in his lap.

The phone rings in the late afternoon and Koutarou is screaming some sort of festive cheer. In the background of the static, Keiji can be heard saying, “Merry Christmas,” and Kenma returns the favor. Once the phone is hung up, Kuroo comments on how noisy the “other one” is, but Kenma bluntly says that Kuroo and Koutarou would probably get along.

Resettling back onto the couch for the nth time today, Kenma leans into Kuroo’s side. An arm wraps around his shoulder and hugs him closer than he imagined possible. The cat god turns the television on and leaves it on a tacky Christmas movie, and from the first few minutes, Kenma can already tell what the plot is.

Surrounded by Kuroo, the blond notes that he has a lingering smell of hot cocoa on his clothes and that strong smell of something like cologne, which he doesn’t wear. From the time spent together, he smells familiar.

Taking in one deep breath, Kenma sneezes. Chuckling loudly (or braying, like a donkey), Kuroo pats Kenma’s head.

“Be careful, because you might be allergic to cats,” he says, almost carefree.

Kenma throws a weak punch without any effort behind it, and settles back into a comfortable position in the crook of Kuroo’s arm. They stare forward at the television set, watching it with little interest. The cat god occasionally shifts or pulls Kenma closer, who also leans his head to nuzzle Kuroo.

Despite the amount of compassion that Kuroo is showing towards the human, he feels the worry that had been building up inside him begin to overflow. He can feel the lack of need that Kenma feels for him. It’s just become a feeling of accustom and self-indulgence. As a god, Kuroo is no longer needed in the Kozume house, which means he needs to leave soon.

The thought pains him. He wants to feel needed. He needs it. He’ll be forgotten, which scares him. Gods, he’s afraid of sitting in his shrine for the rest of eternity with no visitors, or even worse, it’ll be torn down one day. It’s dumb and selfish of him, but he wants Kenma to need him again.

* * *

There’s no weight on Kenma when he wakes up on Christmas. He’s already done his fair share of holiday celebration, which makes him hope that Kuroo hasn’t gone to make him even more food to celebrate. He’s afraid that he’s going to get fat, but Kuroo always tells him that he doesn’t even eat enough.

“Kuro,” Kenma says aloud, expecting an immediate response - like normal. When there’s no, “Yeah?” in response, he feels worry deep in his heart, and he gets up. It’s not like he spoke loudly, so maybe Kuroo hadn’t heard him.

Pulling the blankets off the bed with with him, Kenma lugs himself downstairs, expecting to find the stove cooking something and the television on, but he’s welcomed only by silence. There’s no sound of heavy footsteps or clanking of pots. The only noises are coming from Kenma as he shuffles down the hallway.

He tries calling for Kuroo one more time, but there’s still no reply to settle his shaken nerves. Kenma shivers, and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s scared or if it’s because he’s cold.

“Ah, sorry,” Kuroo says, coming from somewhere behind Kenma, causing him to stiffen in fear. “Didn’t hear you.”

Kenma extends his hand out to grab onto Kuroo’s to stop him, but he misses by an inch. Normally, Kuroo would stop to give Kenma another chance, but he keeps walking. Kenma’s heart sinks, but he withdraws back into his blanket cloak and follows the cat god cautiously.

There’s something wrong with Kuroo, and Kenma wants to ask what’s bothering him. He normally emanates charisma and a good attitude, but there’s something dull and lethal about him that scares Kenma in a way that horror movies can’t. He’s unsure what caused Kuroo to act like this, but it’s bothering both of them to no end.

“Kuro, what’s both-”

“Nothing,” he says, not allowing Kenma to even finish what he has to ask. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

He feels bad, cutting Kenma off. He doesn’t really mean the hostility in his actions and words. Fear and paranoia is affecting him in a way he doesn’t want it to, but it feels like there’s no other way to respond to what he’s feeling. Kenma looks like he’s pulled aback, but says nothing more. Kuroo parts his lips to apologize, but instead, he turns away.

There’s distance between them both for the rest of the day. A few times, Kenma attempts to close that gap by reaching out, but he always misses. Kuroo avoids being within a similar vicinity for a long time and he rarely makes conversation. Kenma doesn’t like this feeling at all.

He wants to scream out, “Why are you being like this? What did I do? Why are you upset?” but he’s afraid that Kuroo won’t give him an answer. He wants Kuroo to fix this - to fix the tenseness between them. Kenma doesn’t know why it’s there, but he wants it gone. He wants their relationship to fall back into the right place again.

When he begins to cry, it’s unexpected and sudden. Emotional pain swallows him whole and takes over. He can’t stop the stream of tears and he attempts to mask it with his hands, trying to wipe them with his sleeves.

“K-kenma?” Kuroo stutters.

“Fix this. Fix it. Make this better.”

Kuroo’s hands are tense and shaking. Closing the space between the two, he places one trembling hand on Kenma’s shoulder, and the other cups the back of his head to bring his face into Kuroo’s chest. Kenma shakes as he cries, but he doesn’t make any noises. Unsure of what to do, the cat god attempts to make out an apology, but before the words can leave his lips, Kenma demands once more, “Fix this.”

“Why are you upset? Why are you being distant? Why are you pushing me away?” Kenma makes out, pushing away from Kuroo. He looks up to him, sniffling a little.

Kuroo barely manages to organize his thoughts. He doesn’t know how to explain himself to Kenma in a way that he’ll understand. Kenma isn’t dumb, but Kuroo is afraid that he won’t understand how important this sort of thing is to a god. He tries to put the right words together to explain to Kenma that he _needs to be needed_. As a god, Kuroo needs to be remembered to be kept in existence. More selfishly, he wants it to be Kenma to remember him. He wants to stay.

“I figured that pushing you away would make you need me again,” Kuroo says, almost embarrassed by himself.

Kenma understands why Kuroo attempted to make space. He knew Kenma well enough that if someone had been ripped from his life or pushed themselves away without a goodbye or any closure, he would want to close that gap. He would want to be close to them again, and Kuroo took advantage of that. It didn’t make him mad at all. In fact, it caused Kenma to come to a sudden revelation.

He’ll act on it later, but now, he still wants Kuroo to make it feel like they’re close again. He tells him that, which causes the cat god to look around nervously, unsure what to do. Kuroo takes his hands and cups Kenma’s face, sighing loudly. It isn’t a sigh that has a lot of stress behind it, but more of sigh that means he has a lot of things he wants to do, but he can’t decide between them all.

They stay like this for a few seconds until Kenma’s tense shoulders relax. He closes his eyes and exhales, as though he’s breathing out his tension.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Do what you think is right,” Kenma says. “Isn’t that something you would tell me?”

“Yeah, but what I want to do - what I think would work - might be wrong,” he replies, his palms hot against Kenma’s cheeks.

“And what’s that?”

Oh. _Oh_.

They’re lips brush, but it’s almost as though they’re both afraid to fully collide. Kuroo’s lips are hot and inviting, only grazing Kenma’s. Kuroo is hunched over, having closed the space between them, almost immediately after saying, “ _This_ ,” but he doesn’t allow them to fully meet.

He’s hesitating, but gods, he wants this moment to last, but at the same time, he wants to rush it and pull Kenma into a heavy kiss. Kenma is gentle, though, which means that isn’t right. He pauses, waiting to see if Kenma tells him to stop, but he never does.

“Can I?”

Kenma nods in response.

Kuroo is gentle with him. He pulls Kenma closer to close that centimeter that had been between them. Kenma’s touch is soft and ghost-like, his hands settled on Kuroo’s chest in an loving way. His head is tilted up, still being held by Kuroo’s calloused hands, and he seems to melt at the affection. Kuroo fights the urge to pull him into a rougher, deeper kiss, and pulls away. Kenma sighs against Kuroo’s lips as he pulls away, and drops his hands to his sides. He opens his eyes, refusing to look up.

“Stay,” Kenma says. “I’m making an official request for you to stay.”

“What?” Kuroo asks, looking down at him.

“As a god, it’s your job to fulfill people’s requests. If you don’t want to leave, then you don’t have to. I’m requesting that you stay, if you want.”

What a terrifyingly _good_ turn of events.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked this :') Come and say hello on [tumblr](http://koushii.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](twitter.com/dqmcn)!!


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